


Bloodfire

by pickledegghead



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Chastity Device, Corporal Punishment, Light Bondage, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Humiliation, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Guilt, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickledegghead/pseuds/pickledegghead
Summary: “'Who is it?' His master’s eyes searched his deeply, bafflement writ clear in the twist of His brow, the down-turned corner of his mouth. Alfred would have laughed if he had the energy. This answer was easy, at least.'You, master,' he sighed with a fresh burst of tears. 'It’s always, only, ever been you.'"Alfred faces the consequences.
Relationships: Alfred/Martyr Logarius, implied Alfred/others
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	Bloodfire

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Floodgate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20983466) by [Hambone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone). 



> I read Hambone's fics Floodgate, Burn You Up, Burn You Down, and Under Ice sometime last weekend and very quickly became obsessed with the dynamic between Alfred and Logarius.   
> I'd say read Floodgate before this and definitely heed the tags on that fic (and this one-with more tags to come)  
> It should be noted that I've never posted fic anywhere before (and have also never finished a fic lmao) but there's no time like quarantine to start  
> Unbeta-ed  
> comments greatly appreciated !

The stones of the interrogation chamber floor were hard and painful, but so cold as to be numbing. Alfred sat on his abused backside, back to the wall and face in his knees and let the ache intensify, then slowly dissipate as the cold leeched it away.

He had no sense of time in the dark; the others had put out the torches lining the walls upon their departure. But he suspected near two hours had passed since his brothers had cleaned him up- a full bucket of ice cold water upturned over his head, another splashed across his front and back, and a rough cloth tossed at him to dry himself with. Tears had streamed his face throughout, his breath shuddering in his chest. Though by the time his brothers left him, he no longer felt any fear, or disgust at himself, or anything really. Just a permeating nothingness within to reflect the impenetrable dark without.

So, he figured, feeling the chill reach down to his bones, it was only fitting that his outward body match the apathy he felt inwardly.

Perhaps the silence only amplified his thoughts, as he could still hear his Master’s words echoing as it bounced off the stone, His disappointment washing over him in a wave, drowning him in his own shame so thoroughly as to desensitize him to anything else. His worst nightmare had befallen him, and he had brought it upon himself, had allowed himself to fall slave to his base desires. This was the only way it could have ended; there was no other logical culmination of his years-long descent into depravity. But in the moment, he embraced willful ignorance, too caught up in the hands that stroked along his body almost reverently, or else held fast and hard leaving deep bruises that purpled and ached when he pressed on them later, fucking himself on his own hand with the memory of his latest tryst bright in his mind.

Or even when no one else would do, when he could not even bare the thought of another’s hands on him and he waited til all was quiet and dark in the hold to push fingers into himself thinking of nothing but his luminous master. Alfred’s mind conjuring up words of praise or- as was more likely in recent months- chastisement in His deep, rolling voice until he came silently, jaw clenched hard on his knuckles. Even as he cleaned the spend from the chastity device around his cock, the shame at perverting His holy image was still not enough to turn him from his preoccupation with the pleasures of the flesh.

Whatever punishment his master decided upon, he would bear it. He would bear the pain, the humiliation, would even accept never being allowed outside of the walls of the hold again. He deserved even worse treatment than he’d already been subjected to for his transgressions, and he would take whatever his master dealt as a mercy.

Anything so long as he was not dismissed from the order, anything but being sent from his master’s side.

The iron door to the interrogation chamber screeched on its hinges, startling Alfred to his feet. He stumbled, legs gone to pins and needles as blood returned to them, forcing him to cling to the wall to stay upright.

Looking up, his eyes squinted first at the sudden brightness of lamplight, then widened as Logarius ducked into the room, flanked by two of his brothers. He couldn’t see his master’s face, the lantern swinging from his hand held too low to illuminate it, but his brothers regarded him with open contempt and disgust. Alfred’s heart thudded in his chest as Logarius took one long stride into the room. He stopped there, saying nothing, and the brothers that accompanied him prowled forward. He recogized them as members of the group that had seen him leaving the alley with the stranger and detained him. They grabbed Alfred by his biceps and yanked him from the wall. Stumbling over his still numb feet he went willingly. They forced him to his knees in the center of the room, stone biting into the skin.

“Leave us.” Logarius ordered. Alfred’s whole body shook with a shiver, though not from the cold. A moment later and the door squealed shut, the clang echoing in the following silence.

Logarius said nothing. Alfred knew better than to break the silence first, and even if he didn’t what would he have to say for himself? Instead he let his master’s gaze hang heavy upon him like a yoke, eyes glued to his own knees and Logarius’ booted feet.

His breath came loud, so loud, Alfred’s head throbbing from his increased heartbeat. He’d always loved the rare occasions on which he was gifted with his master’s full attention, and yes, he had often gotten himself off thinking about it afterward. Which had only come round to stab him in the back because despite his shame and humiliation he could feel heat growing in the dark pit of him.

The moment drew out like a blade, until Logarius’s feet left his field of vision. Still he didn’t look up, only listened to the sound of His footfalls around the perimeter of the room. The dark lifted as He made his circuit, lighting the torches around the room with the flame from the oil lamp. Lighting the third torch on the wall behind Alfred, He finally spoke.

“Why, Alfred?” His voice pierced like a spear through the heart, Alfred’s rapid breath ceasing all at once (and despite himself, his cock jerking in its little cage).

Wasn’t that the question: why had he allowed himself to fall into such disgrace? Why had he betrayed himself, his brothers, his master and holy savior?

He knew the answer but he couldn’t speak it, choked on his own breath as he was.

“You have been my most reliable soldier, the most dedicated to our cause,” Logarius went on, lighting the last torch to Alfred’s left. “And despite your transgressions in recent years, that has not changed.” (And how the heat in him thrilled to hear that his master still trusted him, still knew him to be loyal to a fault.)

One measured step brought His right foot back into view, and then the left. The oil lamp came to rest on the floor beside them with a quiet thunk. Its light wavered as did Alfred’s lower lip; he bit it near bloody to force it still again.

His master crouched further, and a moment later a large hand molded itself to the back of his neck. He jumped, every muscle straining to resist leaning into the touch. For once he would take what he was given and no more (but oh, how his blood sang as it rushed to his cock). His lip split under the pressure of his teeth, blood blooming hot across his lip.

Firm and insistent, the hand urged him to look up.

He did, slowly, agonizingly, but still did not meet his master’s eyes, focusing on the laces on his shirt- his night shirt. He very nearly doubled over in shame as it dawned on him that Logarius had been woken from his slumber because of him, had been pulled from his bed to deal with Alfred’s failure.

“Alfred.” His voice had fallen nearly to a whisper but still Alfred felt it reverberate deep in his heart, yanking a wet gasp from him. He could resist no longer, and finally lifted his eyes, expecting disgust, contempt, anything but what he found. Logarius’ features were as strong as ever (in his more fanciful moments he imagined his master having been carved from marble) but his eyes shone in the lamplight with a deep sadness he could hardly bear to witness.

“Help me understand.” The command came gently, and were Alfred a braver man he’d be tempted to say there existed in His voice a pleading note. He wished it was anger. He wished Logarius would shout and strike him and call him all the awful things he was: wanton, degenerate, _whore_. It would be easier to bear His wrath than to know he deserved it and still receive this gentle treatment instead. As it was he found himself very suddenly, viscerally overwhelmed from the grace of his master’s mercy. Logarius had every right to toss him to the wayside, strip him of his title, his purpose, everything and never spare him another kind word. But here he was, crouched before him, giving him the chance to explain himself. Something warm and fluttering rose up within him like a flame, different from the dark heat that always crackled deep within. He tried to maintain control, to choke it back, keep the tears from spilling over. But he was a weak man.

The thing inside him burst forth with a wretched sob. Fat tears leaked from his eyes, blurring Logarius’ visage into a murky, wavering pool of pale white radiance.

“ _Because I love_ ,” he cried, voice hoarse from his earlier shouting.

The hand on his neck shifted and even through his tears he could see Logarius’ surprise. He could bear His gaze no longer; it was too heavy paired with the weight of his confession. Struggling to control his sobs, He dropped his head and shut his eyes tight.

“I love one I cannot have and it _burns_.”

The ever-present heat in his blood had to be a sign of burgeoning beasthood he’d thought at first, and had gone running in near hysterics to Logarius begging to be killed before he suffered such disgrace. His master- so patient and caring- had calmed him down before hearing him out, and then took him to see the church healers Himself. Ultimately they’d found nothing wrong, not even a fever, and posited that Alfred was likely experiencing the same thing all young men went through in their teenage years. He’d been deeply embarrassed to waste Logarius’ time on what turned out to be such a trivial matter. But Logarius had simply chuckled and commended him on his vigilance, one huge hand ruffling his mess of curls. His blood near seared him from the inside when he felt his master’s touch, but he’d attributed it at the time to embarrassment.

“It has burned me hollow,” he rasped, “and it is such a terrible emptiness.”

His ears rang with his own pitiful cries, tears plopping on the clammy skin of his thighs, rolling down in between them as if to join the source of his shame.

On his worst nights, he would forgo sleep to wring orgasm after orgasm from himself, but not even his memories and imaginings could satisfy the bone-deep ache of knowing his love was wrong, it would never be returned, and he would live out his life unfulfilled of what he desired more than anything else. On those nights he wept silently into his sheets, trying- failing- to console himself with being his master’s most devoted servant (and nothing more).

“I try,” he started, but his throat stuck and he had to take a moment to swallow. “I try to fill the hole, so I let men use me, hoping it will finally be enough-” he huffed a breath, cursing his foolishness- “but it never is.” How could it ever be enough when the men he lets fuck him couldn’t even hold a match to the blazing light that was Logarius.

In a rush, one final great sob wracked his body. He shook with it, gasping for air and hiccoughing. Exhaustion pressed on him with the weight of an anvil, collapsing him into himself.

The hand on his neck removed itself- he missed the contact immediately. Alfred expected to be left to languish in his misery then, his master too disgusted to remain in his presence. But Logarius didn’t move from his crouch, remained still in contemplation. Alfred still shook, but now his tears flowed silently.

“Who?” Logarius asked once Alfred’s breath and heartbeat were normal. When He didn’t get a response immediately, the hand returned to Alfred’s neck and urged him back upright. Alfred went easily. Their eyes met, and Logarius released the nape of his neck to instead grip his chin, preventing him from looking away again.

“Who is it?” His master’s eyes searched his deeply, bafflement writ clear in the twist of His brow, the down-turned corner of his mouth. Alfred would have laughed if he had the energy. This answer was easy, at least.

“You, Master,” he sighed with a fresh burst of tears. “It’s always, only, ever been you.”

A horrible blankness stole its way across Logarius’ face. For a moment, Alfred’s heart stilled, sure that this was the final transgression that would see him struck down. The hand on his chin gripped tighter, tension solidifying in the air the way it did in the breath before the scythe swung.

Alfred made to duck his head and the hand adjusted to keep him looking up. But Logarius miscalculated; His thumb slipped from his chin- only to press down on his split bottom lip. The tiny action resulted in a hugely disproportionate reaction; he gasped, a shiver blazed it’s way down the length of his spine to his cock where it twitched to hardness, and both of his hands flew to grasp his master’s wrist and hold his hand in place. Only the look on his master’s face stopped him from taking the digit into his mouth, but it was a very near thing. His mouth hung open, breath parting around the tip of His thumb and cooling the blood that had smeared there.

Their eyes locked again.

“ _Master_ ,” Alfred breathed.

Something switched in Logarius. Dawning comprehension soon replaced the unreadable blank look. He blinked twice rapidly as though he had been lost in thought.

“I see,” was all he said before standing, firmly pulling his hand from Alfred’s grip. He regarded Alfred for another moment, towering over him at his full height, then turned and strode to the door.

Alfred felt very naked and very alone.

The door creaked open, and Logarius ducked through the doorway without a backward glance.

“Get him clothes and take him to his chambers. I will deal with him in the morning.”

“...yes, master.” Even from where he knelt Alfred could hear the confusion in his brothers’ voices. But they said nothing more than a quiet “goodnight” and then Logarius was gone.

The door remained open for a moment longer, and through it he could see his brothers watch their master walk away, then share a look. One opened his mouth to speak, and the other cast a quick glance over his shoulder to where Alfred knelt, before quickly shutting the door.

He became very aware of the ache in his knees and backside, and the rush of blood in his ears. His heart still pounded. It had stuttered when Logarius’ hand slipped, then picked up double-time when His thumb pressed against his lip.

His cock throbbed at the sense memory. He longed to take his fingers inside himself, work himself to orgasm imagining that hand still on him, Logarius still holding his gaze. It was so very tempting- they already knew him to be guilty, what more could they do to him?

But no, he would not- he _could_ not forsake his master’s mercy by succumbing to perversion yet again. His fists clenched his thighs in a bruising grip but despite himself his hips rocked as though searching for something to fill him, feeling so very empty despite it being only hours since he had given himself to the man in the alleyway, and even less time since he’d been pumped so achingly full with water he’d felt like a blood-drunk tick about to burst.

_No._

He clenched his hands harder on his thighs and forced himself still, resolutely ignoring the way his cock throbbed in its metal prison.

In that instant, the brothers returned, throwing the door open with a loud bang that startled him, focused as he was on keeping still and calm. They entered, the senior ranking one hanging back by the door while the other approached him with a bundle of cloth in his arms. He tossed them at Alfred’s feet.

“Cover yourself,” he sneered.

Alfred complied, noting that these were not the robes that had been taken from him which signaled his station as an Executioner, merely underclothes, a plain white tunic, and brown trousers. He didn’t bother to ask about his actual clothes. He doubted he’d see them again any time soon, if ever, expecting that his rank would be stripped from him.

The tunic was the right size, but the trousers fit ill, too tight around his hips and outlining his groin indecently. The brother standing at the door seemed to laugh under his breath at this, and Alfred tugged his tunic down low enough to cover himself. Annoyance flared under his skin, made him clench his fists. He could forgive the degradation he had already suffered at their hands; he had, after all, deserved it. But to laugh at a fallen brother revealed depths of callousness he wouldn’t have thought possible of those sworn to their order.

The brother who’d carried the clothes stepped closer and raised a hand as if to take hold of him, but Alfred sidestepped out of his reach and staggered toward the door. His knees nearly gave out on the first step, aching as they were, but he managed to keep himself upright.

Just before he reached the threshold, the senior ranking brother lingering by the door thrust out his arm to block his path. Alfred heaved a deep breath before meeting his eyes.

The man held Alfred’s gaze steadily, not in the least intimidated. Intimidation was not Alfred’s aim anyway. He meant only to show that he was exhausted, and not in the mood to argue, but further abuse would not be necessary. Surely they knew how ashamed he already was- no need to beat the horse to death.

“Master Logarius has ordered us escort you to your room,” the man said firmly.

He considered reasoning with them. He had not run when they detained him that night, and he would not run now. Despite his cowardly behavior during their interrogation, he knew the futility of running from fate. But they were little inclined to do him any favors, and he was so very tired.

“Well come on, then,” he rasped, throat hoarse from the hollering and sobbing he’d done. The senior brother searched his face before nodding once. He dropped his arm and allowed Alfred to pass without attempting to grab him.

His bare feet slapped against the smooth tile, echoing from the high vaulted ceilings of the hold. The brothers followed at a slight distance. They didn’t speak, not to each other, and surely not to Alfred. That suited him just fine. His mind had gone blissfully blank. His focus remained solely on putting one foot in front of another on the familiar path from the dungeon to the barracks.

The night was dark; clouds blocked the moon and stars. The only light there was to see by was the oil lamp, now carried by his brothers behind him, and the few wall sconces that were left to burn through the night. It could only be a few hours yet til dawn broke over Yharnam. Only a few hours yet til he faced his master’s judgment.

He swallowed down the anxiety that arose at the thought. He was far too tired to worry now. All there was to do was bear it when it came.

In short order they came to Alfred’s room. He paused only to bid his brothers the briefest of nods farewell before entering.

He shut the door behind himself carefully, not wanting to slam it and wake his neighbors. Slumping toward the bed, he pretended not to hear the muffled voices coming from the hallway.

_Let them gossip_ , he thought as he sunk into his bed. It was only a wool mattress, but compared to the stone floor he’d spent the last unknowable amount of time sitting and kneeling on, it felt like the embrace of the afterlife itself. Alfred didn’t even manage to get his ill-fitting trousers off before he succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.

-

From somewhere distant, a dull thud like that of a limp body hitting the ground. He turned to see exactly that: a headless corpse, bleeding from its stump of a neck. Its head flew through the air, eclipsing the moon and throwing all to darkness. Or it would have, only before him stood a pillar of radiant white, several meters tall and glorious to behold. He shielded his eyes, it was too much, too bright.

The light shifted; the moon revealed once more and the pillar of light faded and contracted, taking shape as a man, towering above him. At first he mistook Him for a statue of marble, but then saw the scythe clutched in his large hands.

Two other men, smaller and dull, cleared away the body that lay before Him, then went to fetch the next. This one- he saw its large build, its golden curls, and he knew it was himself but in the distant abstract way that one recognizes an animal they’ve only heard described before, never seen.

He watched himself kneel before The Executioner, and noted his erection. It did not surprise him to see it.

The other him put his head on the chopping block. The Executioner prepared his scythe, reaching up and back in a smooth, calculated movement.

He watched himself breathe in- and heard it too, loud as a hand cannon in this impossibly quiet world. As he drew the breath as deep as he could, The Executioner reached the apex of his swing.

The breath held. The world froze. And finally, he locked eyes with himself.

His... other’s eyes were heady and unfocused, lids drooping near closed. And he knew, somehow, that he was close to orgasm. He knew that he would come in the same instant that the blade separated head from body.

Alfred exhaled and the scythe swung-

A loud banging yanked him from sleep to wakefulness. His heart hammered in his chest, breath coming fast as he jerked up from where he’d had his face buried in the pillow. He flipped over, disoriented, casting about for- what, exactly, he didn’t know, didn’t recognize where he was.

Another round of banging on the door; his head whipped around to stare at it, bewildered.

“Alfred,” someone on the other side called. “Open the door or we’re coming in.”

Alfred scrubbed a hand over his face, the night before coming back to him sluggishly.

Right. It was time to face his master then. He looked to the window- the sky had lightened to the blue-gray of pre-dawn. The first bell would ring soon, waking everyone else in the barracks.

“One-” he tried but his voice rasped something awful. He swallowed his spit to wet his throat, but immediately regretted it at the taste. “One moment.”

Sitting up, a painful arousal quickly made itself known. He dropped back onto one elbow and worked his hand into the ill-fitting trousers to adjust himself. Relief washed over him immediately. Huffing, he allowed himself one moment of indulgence to fondle his balls, taking the edge off just a little.

“Alfred,” the voice called again, a warning. He extricated his hand from his trousers and himself from his bed, stooping low- and cursing at the way his joints popped and ached- to retrieve his boots from underneath.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror on the nightstand he used for shaving and grimaced at his wild curls and dark circles under his eyes.

Boots still in hand, he opened the door- then stood there blinking blearily until he recognized the same two brothers from the night before. They looked about as tired as he felt. He wondered if they’d gotten any sleep at all.

“It’s time,” the elder said. Alfred just nodded and turned to sit on the chair and pull on his boots. He supposed it didn’t really matter, whether his boots were tied, or even if he wore shoes. But the others said nothing so he laced and tied them anyway.

“Shall we go, then?” He asked when he was done as if they were about to go for a walk about the grounds rather than to Alfred’s likely public humiliation. Without waiting for an answer, he brushed past them out the door before they had a chance to lay hands on him again.

They chapel sat empty and dark still when they reached it. He stopped in the aisle turning to look at the others, and was nudged further on. All the way down the aisle he walked, then up the short steps of the altar. Now they took hold of him by the shoulders, turned him around to face the pews, and made him kneel before the pulpit.

They left him there and disappeared back out through the doors.

Not long after, the first bell rang. All seven tolls reverberated through his body like an impact, like hitting the ground over and over and over. It was like those dreams one sometimes has of falling, the ones from which he would jerk awake, clutching his chest only to laugh off the pounding of his heart as foolish- he was perfectly safe, after all.

He busied himself with the fancy of waking up from this dream while the sun crested the horizon, the chapel slowly brightening. It worked to keep his mind off of his sweaty palms and thudding heart- that is, until the doors to the chapel opened wide and the brothers of the order began to trickle in.

The first few stopped dead in their tracks upon catching sight of him. They whispered to each other, confused, before hesitantly finding their seats. This pattern continued as more men arrived and they found themselves caught off guard at the sight of him.

The pews filled. Dozens of eyes bore into him as they all failed not to stare. Alfred kept his gaze firmly ahead. Curious whispers and murmurings snaked through the rows. The constant noise, while low in volume, battered his ears so that they may as well have all been shouting. It drowned out his thoughts, the rush of blood in his ears, everything but the tension growing in him as dread clawed its way up his spine.

He felt halfway to madness by the time Master Logarius stood in the doorway. His heart seized. A far-off part of him seriously wondered if he would collapse of heart failure before he even faced his punishment. He met his master’s eyes but briefly; in that time they managed to pierce him straight to his soul. Somehow he was even more exposed than he had been the night before.

He averted his gaze to the floor lest he be flayed to the bone.

Logarius’ footsteps echoed loudly off the stone walls and glass windows. A wave of silence followed Him, the congregation cutting themselves off abruptly once they realized their master had arrived.

Every muscle in Alfred’s body twinged with tension as Logarius neared, only relaxing slightly when His feet passed him by without hesitation to continue carrying him toward the pulpit.

Two other pairs of feet followed, surprisingly. Their owners came to kneel on either side of Alfred. Despite his curiosity, he didn’t dare look up.

The second bell rang. The church sat still and silent as the grave throughout.

After the last echo of the bell had finally dissipated to silence, Logarius spoke.

“Let us pray.”

The collective shuffle of people bowing their heads and clasping hands together. Alfred bowed lower til his head touched his knees and breathed, grounding himself by mouthing the familiar words as Logarius spoke them. His master’s voice soothed some of the tension from his body like the tide smoothing a stone. His heartbeat slowed, the rush of his blood quieting until he could hear the breaths of those kneeling beside him. By the time the prayer was over, Alfred could almost pretend everything was normal if he kept his eyes shut.

“My brothers,” Logarius pronounced after a resounding silence. “what is the greatest adversary we face? The one foe that plagues us night and day?” He let the question ring out, the crowd considering where their master was going with it. “This enemy is invisible, and plagues each and every one of us. We must face it alone, and triumph- or fall- to it alone. Who here knows of what I speak?”

Alfred knew of course. Or he was fairly certain at least. He wondered if he was intended to speak up, to condemn himself, but before he could try, his master continued.

“Temptation,” He declared. “We are all of us subject to the dangers of temptation.” Logarius rounded the corner of the pulpit, footsteps thudding on the stone floor of the altar. “The temptation to break ones vows-” two more footsteps in Alfred’s direction- “be it through indulgence of material gain, disobedience of the church, or worse- is ever present.”

One last step. His master’s presence loomed over him. Alfred was having a hard time breathing.

“We all know temptation, whether we acknowledge it or not. Including Brother Alfred here.” Alfred’s breath caught, and his hands white-knuckled his knees. “But as you and I choose to reject temptation, Brother Alfred has chosen to succumb to it. He has acted on his temptations and trespassed against his vows as a soldier of the church, and as an Executioner.”

Once more, every eye in the church turned its gaze on him. He could feel them boring holes into his skin as if he’d been locked in an iron maiden. Anxiety bubbled up his throat like bile.

“Brother Alfred.” He startled at being addressed directly. “Tell the congregation of what you’ve done.”

He took one, two, three deep breaths before he was able to sit himself up and face the church.

“I have-” his throat, gone completely dry, rasped. He swallowed. So many eyes, all on him, waiting to cast their judgment. He couldn’t meet them. “I have broken my vow of celibacy.” He stared resolutely up the aisle, wide-eyed. His heart was so loud, he was sure they could all hear it.

“Tell them exactly how you’ve broken your vow.” Logarius’ voice chilled him to the core.

“Self-abuse,” Alfred announced before he could think on it too long. And so-” the word stuck in his throat, revulsion clawing at his lungs.

“Sodomy.” Even having managed it, it brought him no relief to be rid of the secret. An incredulous murmur went up among the pews, a sea of disgusted sneers turning back on him as every man turned to the one next to him to whisper.

“Yes,” Logarius raised his voice and thoroughly silenced them all. “Grave trespasses indeed.

“Brother Alfred, why have you allowed yourself to succumb to temptation?”

“Because I-” an abrupt flashback to his tear-stricken confession from the night before choked him. An embarrassed flush crept up his neck. Surely Master Logarius didn’t expect him to profess his love for him in front of the entire order. He couldn’t, he simply could not. Those words were for Logarius alone.

“Because I am weak,” he eventually said and prayed his master would allow him to leave it at that. Mercy of all mercies, He did.

“Weakness, my brothers,” Logarius’ robes swished about his feet and stirred the air as he stepped around him to descend the stairs. “Is a disease. But one that can be treated.” He stepped down to the floor level and all eyes gradually turned from Alfred to Him. “We treat weakness of the body with food, exertion, and medicine. But what of weakness of the mind? Of the soul?”

Alfred felt a tug on his tunic. Startled, he whipped around to find two Sisters of the church had been kneeling either side of him all this time. He recognized their uniform to be that of nurses of the main cathedral. They each had a hold on the hem of his tunic, lifting it gently and exposing his midriff. It wasn’t until they had to stop at his arm pits that he realized they meant to remove it. He raised his arms to allow them to pull it over his head.

“The soul is made of much sterner stuff than these our physical bodies. And as such, it is much harder to compromise. But it is also much harder to heal.”

The sister to Alfred’s right had with her a pitcher of water and some lengths of rope, the one to his left a bowl and some folded up linens. The sisters turned to each other behind his back- he heard the sound of water pouring into the bowl. Without warning, a cool and wet something- the linen, his mind supplied- touched his back. He flinched before he could stop himself. After a brief pause, the cloth returned, closely followed by another pressed to his lower back.

Alfred’s eyes widened as an image began to crystallize in his mind of what was coming. The sisters washed his back while Logarius continued his sermon.

“To even reach the soul is a difficult task.” His master turned to face him, meeting his eyes. He was helpless to look away, transfixed, even as He produced something from within his robes.

“To reach the soul, you must first break the man.” Logarius unwound the object. Alfred didn’t have to look to know what it was. “Brother Vincent,” He called without taking his eyes from Alfred’s.

From the first pew on Alfred’s right, someone stood.

“Yes, Master?” Alfred recognized his voice as the senior ranking brother of the ones that interrogated him, that escorted him here.

“You shall assist me.” And with that, Logarius let the cat ‘o nine tails dangle from his outstretched left hand, its ropes swinging freely through the air.

Alfred swallowed. He couldn’t hear anything past the roar in his ears. He watched as, silently, Vincent retrieved the cat and turned on him, striding up the stairs with an air of importance and vindication palpable about him.

The cloths were removed from his back, his skin going to gooseflesh as the cool air dried what dampness had been left behind. The sisters took hold of his wrists after setting the pitcher and bowl aside. He didn’t resist. They brought his hands up, arms bent, and gently placed each on the opposite shoulder so that his arms formed a vee across his chest. And then came the ropes.

They bound each wrist to the opposite bicep, fixing his arms in the position. Anticipation created such a cacophonous buzz his senses were overwhelmed with it. And in a strange way he was almost grateful; there was no room for fear like this, with the knowledge of what was to come now a very present and real threat.

Their work done, the Sister’s stood, and bowing once to Master Logarius, took places standing by the wall.

“Alfred,” Logarius called his attention back to front and center. Despite the noise in his head, Logarius cut through right to the heart of him. (But should he have expected anything less?)

“You shall receive twenty-five lashes and henceforth are demoted to the rank of Initiate. Do you understand?”

He could feel Vincent lurking somewhere behind him, just waiting for the order. His skin crawled and he failed to suppress a shudder.

“Yes, Master.” His own voice sounded so far away, a source-less echo.

“Begin.”

The first blow forced the air from his lungs so completely he would not have been surprised to learn they had ruptured entirely. So breathless was he that couldn’t even cry out, could only sit frozen from the shock of it.

“Twenty-five lashes, Alfred,” Logarius’ voice filtered over the sound of his futile attempts to reclaim enough air. “Count them.”

“One,” he just barely managed even after one huge gulp of air that was immediately rendered superfluous as the next strike winded him all over again. This one brought with it a throbbing ache where the tails landed, stripes of heat lighting up across his back.

“Two,” the word wrenched itself from his throat with a forceful exhale. His every muscle had gone tense despite himself; he knew it would only make it worse but couldn’t force himself to relax.

In fact, he only clenched even more when the third blow landed, his jaw shut so tightly he could hear the grind of his teeth even above the roaring white noise in his ears. He could not even unclench it enough to speak, had to force “three” out between his teeth.

Some of the tails landed low across his back with strike four, igniting new pain that he flinched away from, back arching and eyes shutting tight against the tears rapidly welling up.

“Eyes open and forward, Alfred.”

It took him a moment to obey, struggling to will away the wetness in them. He opened them and there his master stood, just as cold and unflinching as the stone beneath His feet. Alfred grieved then not only for his pain, but for his fall from his master’s graces. He would have accepted fifty more lashes if only He would spare him a smile again.

“Four,” he breathed almost as an afterthought, trying to focus on his breathing. For the next hit he managed to time his breath so that he’d just emptied his lungs before it landed, and that helped to lessen the shock of it. The downside was he was left only with the searing pain of the cat leaving another set of what would soon be furiously red welts over top of those which had already formed.

His nails bit into his skin where his hands were trapped against his shoulders, though the sting may as well have been a summer breeze with how it compared to the inferno lighting across the skin of his back.

“Five,” and this time his voice was stronger, resonating through the church and back to his own ears. Logarius didn’t so much as blink, piercing gaze remaining staunchly level with his own. It was mesmerizing, the way his usually warm master could be so unmoved and unmovable. He channeled some of that strength to the best of his ability with the next several blows, managing at least to not flinch away, and to keep the tears at bay. This strategy of focusing on his master’s calm worked well for him- until the ninth lash.

He felt it the instant his skin split. Alfred had had beatings before- he hadn’t been a particularly well-behaved child (not that he tried to get into trouble; more often he found himself there in the process of trying to get his mates out of it), and had often found himself the subject of the orphanage mistress’ ire. By the time he’d been old enough to join the Executioners, he’d lost count of how many times his rear had been subjected to a caning that left him sore and walking funny for a few days. But she’d never broken the skin at least. He’d been getting by so far telling himself this was only slightly worse than when he was a boy, but that lie quickly flew out the window, along with the ability to hold back a cry of pain.

The sound punched its way out of him, a dribble of spit following behind it only to cling to his chin.

“Nine,” he gasped, voice wavering to match the tremble in his limbs.

The tenth blow landed and he shouted, the open wounds deepening as they were struck again. Face twisting up, he barely managed to suppress his tears and stay focused on Logarius. His features, placid as ever, showed no sign of concern. That more than anything wounded Alfred deeply, his heart clenching where it beat madly against his rib cage.

“Ten.” Almost halfway done. But the worst was yet to come.

He managed to restrain his reaction to a wet gasp on the eleventh strike, but the twelfth opened new wounds, ripping a sob from his throat. He shut his eyes again, but the tears would not be stopped this time. They squeezed out the corners and dripped down his cheeks, off his chin.

“Alfred,” Logarius commanded, not needing to finish the sentence for Alfred to know what he wanted. He opened tear-blurred eyes to a sea of white-robed figures that he knew were all staring at him. Witnessing his weakness for themselves. He supposed it was better than he couldn’t make out their expressions- he wasn’t sure he would be able to bare it otherwise.

After that, each successive blow brought new heights to his agony as the skin tore again and again. He could feel the blood trickling down his back in rivulets, soaking into the waistband of his trousers. By the eighteenth blow he sobbed openly, snot and tears streaming down his face, salty in his mouth. His vision had tunneled down to just Logarius, or rather his blurred outline that appeared less like a person and more like a living pillar of light.

His wrists stung, rubbed raw from twisting and thrashing against the ropes, wanting to reach out and grab hold of something, anything to ground himself. He’d lost the count somewhere. Mercifully, Logarius hadn’t pressed him to continue, just stood silently watching as Alfred fell to pieces before him.

Lash twenty saw him doubled over into his knees, shoulders and chest heaving trying to take in air that was expelled almost immediately from the pain lancing across his ribs.

“Alfred,” his master’s voice called, in a tone suggesting it was not the first time he was having to say it. Alfred was having a hard time hearing anything beyond his own sobs.

“You remember your vows.” It wasn’t a question but he nodded anyway, forehead pressing hard to his knees.

“Sit up and recite them.”

It took several deep breaths to muster the strength. He grit his teeth as the movement pulled at his shredded back, then paused once he was up to catch his breath enough to raise his voice, which trembled and broke just like the rest of him.

“T-to serve the church... b-body and soul,”

Another lash that ripped a wretched, choked sob from him.

“Go on.” Logarius ordered when he sat there quivering for long enough.

“To repel beasts,” his throat stuck, making him cough- it turned to a wheeze as pain arced up his ribcage. “To repel beasts wherever they may be,”

Knowing the strike was coming did nothing to abate the torment it wrought.

“To...” sobs choked him. He could barely think, let alone speak. “To denounce material want,”

The next lash found a patch of skin that was until then miraculously unbroken. He wailed, fresh blood oozing out into the cool air.

“To resist the pleasures of the flesh,”

Another. His voice sounded like it came from somewhere else when he screamed.

“And to...” he blinked several times, body swaying with the labor of breathing. He couldn’t feel his fingers and toes anymore. “To obey the Master.”

Had the sun dipped behind a cloud? The light was fading very quickly.

“Forever and always,” he barely got the words out, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“Amen.”

With the last lash, the figure before him burst into pure white light, blinding and burning him (oh, how he _burned_ ) down to the very bone.

And then he was falling, falling, falling. Until a deep dark nothingness rose up to meet him.


End file.
